ditch,

the poetry that matters

Michael Aird

Michael Aird lives and works in Vancouver, BC. His work has appeared in such journals as Lit, Lungfull!, Canadian Literature, Bombay Gin, Rhino, Phoebe, Dislocate, on-line by Word for/Word, Shampoo, and Bomblog.

 Vivisection

   

admittedly a mute transfer:

he was a beast after that head injury,

for instancestop monkeying around!

falls under the odor of increased

titillationmore testing is needed,

as in euphoric prediction error:

otherwise the lunchroom taunts

swarm sullen in a lab coatwhat

has she gone unresponsive again?—I find

discreetly applied electrodes

will not be lost on the peer review squad—

call it the frequency at which someone cares—

you can read it most easily in their eyes,

arcing across a shortage of words

 

  

 

 

  

  

He Makes Me Lie Down in Green Pastures

   

  

the default setting

pursed at dry, about to flake your lips

welcome to Atrazine, theme park

for the emasculatedon tap this week:

day-trips for our lobbyistsnext outing:

I honestly didnt know

what was in that creamfunny how

the urine sample was found as far west

as Wyomingif youre a pensive type

no doubt the scrapbook will drink it all in

otherwise keep the rage bottled up

and glacier fresh,

thereby regulating itself—like

at the Yangtze project the displaced shrug:

dammed if you do, dammed if you don’t

 

 

 

 

Keep The Nina Pillin

   

 

the dream was all wound licking would emerge

from the grove of samples:

as a general practice, sponsored by

recognitionI tremble to think

what a placebo might do

to the properties of illnessat least

the inserts sound written

for the people, by the people, etc

our forefathers prescribed certain

inalienable rights to 20 mg’s worth,

dissolving into a stimulus

ever since—whose woods these are I think I know,

and gloss the research with a little shake,

causing the holder to salivate

 

 

 

 

@ Reticular

   

 

because still youll be asked to digest

heaps of gadgets, plastic, repetitive

labormy contacts are like so many

nephron loops in a swished meshwere talking

relief on a need to node basis—because

my portfolio has structural holes,

beside recreational drinks or

volunteer with kids—every test

begins and ends with that flowing cache, like

when the operatives become pissy

change: underwear, project, address—

because into the sunset is still

visionary, swollen with the stuff by which

your stream is an exclusive stream

 

   

 

   

 

 

The Seinfeld Syncope 

    

Seized with a self, like lesions

on the brains bridge of sighsin all seriousness,

surgery might help that mule next door,

feasting on Armanis new fig line

a throwback to the garden without giggles,

just when you thought the spectators had died

their own intoxicating deathmeanwhile

the photo shoots looking grave, the way

sexual selection is always

a high stakes exposure to the campaign—

the ensuing isolation tends to wipe

that smirk off your face, young lady—

anyhow, research shows

your strained whinny once a month is
less dangerous, equally effective

 

 

 

 

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                                                                                                           March 13, 2013